


Waste This Time

by Daiako (Achrya)



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Augmentations (Deus Ex), Berserkers, Body Modification, Forced Marriage, M/M, Post-Betrayal, Sith Anakin Skywalker, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, forced mating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24662062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Daiako
Summary: Various ObiKin Aus/scenes that aren't enough to become their own stories.1. Darth Dissonus isn't pleased with Anakin2. A Dues Ex AU3. WarPrize AU, A/O. Obi-Wan is defeated by an Imperial Berserker. Instead of death he finds himself captured and...
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 22
Kudos: 183





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to set up, just Sith!Obi-Wan being jealous and Anakin sucking his dick in public because I guess this world is about that life. I’m thinking this is old Sith Empire (Have I been playing SWTOR again? MAYBE) and those guys seem like they might be on some hedonistic freak shit. 
> 
> A little murder, a little force choking, and some not totally consensual oral sex

One minute everything was fine, as far as Anakin could tell, and the next he was choking, flesh and blood hand clawing at the invisible pressure crushing his airway while his prosthetic hung, numb and silent and heavy: unresponsive. Obi-Wan was the only person who could override Anakin’s control and the only one bold enough to dare using the force against him like this, surrounded by so many others. It was tempted to try to lash out, animal instinct snarled and gnashed its teeth in fury, but he quelled it. 

It wouldn’t do him any good, the mating bond meant his power parted before Obi-Wan like waves breaking apart towering rocks. It would have been nice if that worked both ways but Anakin’s life wasn’t nice, had never been, or fair. He wore Obi-Wan’s scars, not the other way around. 

The officer he’d been talking to was a bland human who hadn’t been of any interest until he dropped a line about heading up a robotics research lab at the behest of the Emperor. He’d seen it for the pick up attempt that it was, everyone knew what Darth Dissonus’ pet omega’s interests were, but he didn’t mind playing along. Obi-Wan was supposed to be elsewhere anyway, hashing things out with higher ups at Qui-Gon’s behest, and it never hurt to see what he could learn from others. 

People always let things slip, or allowed their minds to be easily skimmed, when the rush of getting close to someone else’s property took over. And maybe there was a rush in it for Anakin as well, knowing people would risk a very ugly death for a chance to get close, to touch him. There was power in that, heady and addictive, and Anakin had come to 

But now he was choking, lifted up onto his toes and seeing spots, while the officer turned tail and fled like a coward. Typical, but then if Anakin could hide from his master in times like this he just might, and it hardly mattered. Three steps from Anakin and the man’s head wrenched around sharply, dull crack echoing in the suddenly silent room. His body pitched forward, a puppet who had lost it’s strings, and Anakin shut his eyes against the feeling that always came with the snuffing out of a life. 

The crowd, a mixture of military, dignitaries, and Sith, parted for Darth Dissonus, silent anticipation rippling through the force, and Anakin didn’t cringe, because Sith didn’t cower even when their Alpha and Master was looking at them like they wanted nothing more than to rip their tongue out and shove it down their throat. 

Though Obi-Wan probably looked placid enough to those who didn’t know him. Face smooth, a slight smile at his lips, lines around golden eyes crinkling with humor, head tilted just so, as if in consideration. But Anakin read the coldness to his gaze, the furrow between his brows, felt the way the heat and lust that always thrummed over their connection iced over. Obi-Wan was bright in the force at all times, a beacon of power that couldn’t be diminished (His master claimed that many were even brighter, Anakin most of all. but he didn’t see how that could be true) and while that was true even in anger, that power was now a void. It was pulling at Anakin, cold and fathomless, screaming to devour. 

Black spots danced over Anakin’s vision and tears he couldn’t control slipped down his cheeks. 

Obi-Wan blinked and the pressure around Anakin’s neck released. He crumpled to the floor, too dizzy to catch himself before he was on his hands and knees, gulping air into burning lungs. His master’s boot, black leather that hugged calves like a second skin and had been under Anakin’s tongue and pushing down on his body more times than he could count, invaded his vision. 

“Apprentice,” Darth Dissonus murmured, at his side and sinking long, elegant fingers into his hair. They curled, gripped, pulled sharply. “Kneel.” 

He stood pushed himself up, legs tingling and knees already sore from hitting the ground, and swallowed hard. He looked up through his lashes at Obi-Wan, trying to parse what the hungry, black pulsing oozing across the bond meant for his odds of survival, watching as his Master shrugged off ink colored robes to pool around him. 

Dramatic, he thought distantly. 

“Open your mouth. Tongue out.” 

Oh. That's what it meant. 

Anakin cringed. “Master, I-” Please, he sent over their bond, can’t we do this somewhere else?

It was one thing for everyone to know he was under his Master’s boot heel, a bonded omega who would beg and submit when his Master demanded it of him, but it was another to have it made public. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan pulled his hair again, dragged his head back past the point of pain flaring between his shoulders. “Now.” 

_You’re my Omega_ , Obi-Wan told him, voice in the force a silken purr that radiated so much rage it made Anakin’s brain throb. _You’re going to take every inch of my cock however I want and wherever I want to shove it in, so I suggest you not make me repeat myself Darling._

Anakin opened his mouth, tongue sliding out. The grip on his hair loosened some, but he didn’t dare move; he waited, silent, breath held in his lungs, for Obi-Wan’s cock to be fed between his lips. 

He felt the sparks of amusement, of cruel enjoyment and arousal, flaring to life around them, heard titters of laughter. He felt the roiling darkness in Obi-Wan settle a little as his head was pushed forward, down, and his mouth filled. Obi-Wan was heavy on his tongue, hot and tasting of skin, thick even though he wasn’t yet hard, velvet soft as he moved in Anakin’s mouth. Anakin didn’t move, didn’t close his mouth around the hot length or suck, or even swallow as spit pooled in and dribbled out his mouth. He knelt, open for his Master, as the man slowly hardened against his tongue, lazily pumping into his mouth and laying his claim out plainly for all who were watching. 

“Suck.” Came the raspy order when Obi-Wan was hot and twitching in his mouth, tip of his cock forcing it’s way into his throat and cutting off his air. He closed his mouth, blurry eyes sliding shut, hollowed out his cheeks, and obeyed.


	2. Dues Ex: Jedi Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Dues Ex AU, in which the Jedi Order is an elite peace keeping branch of the Republic, coming off a massive betrayal that took out many Jedi and their Synthetic human troops. Anakin Skywalker was at the center of that betrayal and, a year after his 'official death' he's back at work with his former unit, paying for his crimes that can never truly be forgiven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Obikin (the feels are there though), past Anidala.

Anakin barely had time to sit and strap into his seat, tucked in the corner farthest from the rest of the unit, before the helicopter was lifting off. Once upon a time he would have leaned forward and shouted up to the cockpit at Hardcase, starting a long familiar argument about his own chronic lateness for missions and the synth’s pilot skills. Ahsoka and Rex would have rolled their eyes and whispered to each other over him and Obi-Wan would have sighed, not unkindly, and reminded him that his own flying was no less reckless and that if he ever managed to arrive when he should then perhaps Hardcase wouldn’t need to fly in such a manner to keep them on schedule. The chatter of their Synth unit would have filled the cabin. 

But that was Before, and this was Now, where, shockingly, turning traitor against your own people, resulting in countless deaths, made them less likely to want to speak to you. He’d resented it, them, at first. More than once he’d silently seethed his way through briefings and flights, wishing he could escape them or maybe finish what he’d started. 

Hadn’t he suffered enough? He’d lost his wife, he had children he’d never be allowed to get anywhere near, he was *mutilated*, more tech than man, and everything he’d had was now beyond his reach. He’d lost his status in not just the combined 212th and 501st Task Force but in the Jedi Corps completely, going from decorated agent to criminal enforcer kept on the very very short leash of his former partner. His trainee, returned to help the Jedi Corps piece themselves back together, couldn’t even look him in the eye. 

Didn’t he deserve a break? It wasn’t like he’d done what he had to hurt anyone he’d just...been desperate. Senator Palpatine had been offering him so much and, at the time, everything had made so much sense. Could they really not understand? Would they not have all done the same? What right did they have to judge him when none of them had done anything to save Padme!? 

Hindsight was an unfortunate reality check, as was time. 

One year since he’d flipped a switch to turn all the synths Rogue, since he’d destroyed everything around him for a cure that didn’t exist, and he saw the world a little differently. He’d been an idiot, turned his back on everyone who cared about him in favor of a man who thought of him as a puppet, and little else. He’d done more or less the opposite of what his wife would have wanted. He’d willfully plunged the world into chaos and sent countless synths and agents to their deaths. 

He was lucky to be breathing (or unlucky, depending on he felt that day) and lucky to have the freedom he had. Exposing his crimes to the world and then shoving him in the deepest, darkest hole the Republic had wouldn’t have been an over reaction, at all, but instead he was comfortable and few people knew that the shitshot of a year ago was on his hands. That, on its own, was enough for him. it meant Luke and Leia wouldn’t have to live with his actions hovering over them. Better, kinder, to let them inherit Padme’s legacy of kindness and unfaltering strength and goodness, and the false narrative of an unknown, genetic donor for a father. 

The Organas would raise them well, far far from him. 

So he sat, quiet and without as much bitterness as there had once been, and listened to the others live their lives in spite of him. Rex and Ahsoka had plans for after this, assuming they didn’t end up dead. Cody, Hardcase, Boil and Longshot were talking about getting drinks and making the most of the downtime they’d been promised if all went well today. Appo was quieter, focusing on gear checks, and just as carefully isolated from the rest as Anakin. 

Anakin didn’t think it was needed, the others would have accepted that Appo hadn’t been in control when he’d turned his weapon on his brothers, but he knew Appo preferred it this way. He didn’t like it, Appo didn’t need to pay penance for Anakain’s mistakes, but it wasn’t his choice to make. Anakin had already taken Appo’s rights to his own thoughts and choice once, and that was more than enough for both of them. 

Obi-Wan sat, quiet and thoughtful, pouring over a holo blueprint of the facility they were raiding, Appo caught his eye and inclined his eyebrow slightly in acknowledgement before, when Anakin shook his head minutely, returning to the task of checking the vests and harnesses they’d be equipped with. They were raiding one of Palpatine’s many secret labs that were still supporting the Senator as he slunk around in hiding, consolidating his power and tearing more holes into the Republic, always out of reach. 

Anakin supposed it was a sign of trust that he was allowed to go on runs like this. Or, more likely, it was a quietly cruel punishment just like sticking him back with the 501/212 had been. 

Nothing less than he deserved. 

“Enforcer Skywalker,” Obi-Wan didn’t raise his voice, he never did, but Anakin’s aural implants picked it up, made it louder than everything else. He was still unsure if that was just part of the Enforcer programming or if putting his former partner at the forefront of his mind was purely mental on his part. 

It didn’t matter much, in the end. 

He pushed himself up and, ignoring the way the conversations lulled as all eyes focused on him, headed for the cockpit. He leaned in, there wasn’t nearly enough room for him to do more than that, and tried not to feel too strange about standing while someone else sat next to Obi-Wan and piloted. 

Some things, he thought, would never be gotten used to. 

“I have an update for you.” Obi-Wan said, one hand lifted to show the small spinal connector that handled all of Anakin’s uploads and downloads. “I’ve already unlocked it, it’s meant for the lower port and should only take a few moments to boot up.” 

Anakin stared at it, stricken; his fingers flexed at his sides. They were noiseless, far too high grade to make any noise and sensitive enough that they responded just like flesh and blood ones would to the lightest of mental whims. Anakin sometimes wished they were less nice, that they would catch and whirl like his old hand had, that they had the otherness he’d come to expect of augments. 

The flawless tissue to tech integration of his augments was endlessly disturbing because it was so easy to forget that he was a walking, talking state of the art weapon of the Jedi Corps, and nothing more. 

Obi-Wan was waiting for him to take the connector but Anakin hesitated, gaze flicking back to the cabin. “Can it wait until we’re on the ground?” 

That got Obi-Wan to look up from the holo-blueprints he was pouring over. Blue-gray eyes blinked at him from behind the sickly yellow of his glasses, expression uncomprehending for a moment. Then the confusion cleared and oh, that was worse before it melted into understanding and sadness. Anakin’s heart, bolstered and enhanced by his health and cardiovascular mods, still managed to skip a beat. 

He knew it because a warning flashed over the lenses of his mirrorshades, along with a suggestion that he activate one of the hormone mods to force himself to relax. He didn’t, dismissing the wards with an absent thought, and looked down at his booted feet instead. 

“It’s an upgrade to the landing system. You’ll need it when we drop.” 

That was a no then. Anakin pinched the bridge of his nose and bit the inside of his cheek. Not that there was anything wrong with his kinetic absorption system or the electromagnetic field, but the one he had allowed ‘moderate’ falls and he needed ‘jump out of a helicopter’ ability. 

Of course he could have just not had volunteered to be first on the ground, via throwing himself out of their transport while everyone else landed normally and infiltrated from the ground but it had seemed like such a good idea at the time. 

“Hardcase, would you give us a moment?” Obi-Wan asked, drawing Anakin’s attention back to him. He was frowning at the connector in his hand thoughtfully, turning the small black disc over and over between his fingers. 

The Synth froze for a beat, a sign of how much the question had thrown him, then stood with a stiff nod. He didn’t look at Anakin as he slipped past him but he did manage to catch him with a hard shoulder. It didn’t hurt, and was far from moving him, but Anakin’s skin prickled with discomfort nonetheless. 

“Can you just lift your shirt, or do you need to remove it?” Obi-Wan asked, turning in his seat so he was facing Anakin fully. The understanding on his face and the kindness of the question made Anakin want to scream. It would have been easier for him if Obi-Wan hated him like everyone else who knew what he’d done did. 

The fact that he was so damn...kind, even now, when Anakin had invaded every aspect of his life after betraying him, after trying to kill him, after forcing Obi-Wan to drive him to the brink of death, was…

It made him sick with hatred, for himself. 

How could he have ever let Palpatine convince him that Obi-Wan wasn’t on his side? 

“I can lift, if you install.” He said finally. He would have preferred to do it himself but it was already a pain to reach back and get everything lined up correctly when he didn’t have to worry about keeping his clothes out of the way. 

Surprise flitted over Obi-Wan’s face then settled into careful blankness; the older man nodded. With one last anxious look over his shoulder (the rest of the unit wasn’t even pretending to not be watching openly, and really that was for the best. If they weren’t suspicious, cautious, he would have been furious.) he stepped fully into the cockpit. The door slipped into place with a whoosh; instead of comforting him it just agitated Anakin further. “You sure you want to be alone with me?” 

“You live with me.” Obi-Wan reminded him blandly. “And you know I could shut you down before you did any harm.” 

Could, yes, but Anakin wasn’t sure he actually would. Obi-Wan confused him, more now than he ever had before. He could turn off Anakin’s ability to move, his consciousness, his godsdamned respiratory system, with just a word. He could have blown his head clean off of his shoulders with a simple phrase. Anakin was at his mercy, on his leash, was his weapon for all intents and purposes, no different than the blasters and blades he owned. 

But not once since Anakin had recovered and been placed in his care had he used any of the keys he’d been granted to control him. He didn’t even yell at him when Anakin’s temper raged or get mad when Anakin refused to do as told or spent the day locked away in his bedroom. 

He’d been more harsh when Anakin had been an Initiate and training under him, and didn’t have hundreds of deaths on his hands. 

He turned and, wincing at nothing, shrugged out of his jacket and lifted up the back of his shirt. His torso wasn’t as bad as the rest of him thankfully, mostly flesh aside from the connector ports that protruded from his spine and where the black nano-mesh of his arms melted into his shoulder blades. There was a lot of scarring, raised and shiny pink even with all the time he’d spent in healing pods, and with it a near constant undercurrent of pain that his augments dulled to a ‘tolerable’ level. 

They would have done more or, hell, they could have replaced all his skin with dermal augments, but he hadn’t wanted it. His arms and legs, his lungs and kidneys and some other organs, his eyes and eardrums, parts of his brain, his spine and bits of his ribcage; they had all been replaced, reconstructed and made new and better. He hadn’t wanted to lose what skin he had just to avoid a little pain. 

He didn’t let anyone see him, aside from the doctors and engineers who kept him in working order. He kept every part of himself covered, even wore gloves on both hands and rarely retracted the mirror lenses from over his eyes. At Obi-Wan’s apartment he was careful to never leave his room unless fully dressed, a far cry from when he’d been there as a teenager who never seemed to be able to keep a shirt on. 

He handled his own upgrades when he could, always Obi-Wan’s offers of help. Especially Obi-Wan’s. He knew, logically, that his former partner (former best friend. Mentor and trainer. The man who had cried that Anakin was his brother, that he loved him, when Anakin tried to ruin his world. Who had destroyed him with one well placed explosive round and then carried him broken and bleeding, cried over him, and demanded he be put back together.) had seen the worst of it. If anyone knew how little of Anakin was actually ‘Anakin’ anymore it was Obi-Wan. 

And yet he wanted him to see least of all. 

He only brought his shirt up as much as was needed to expose the round port at the base of his spine. The second port was along his spine, just below his shoulder blades, and he was almost ridiculously grateful that this update didn’t need to go through that one. There would be no hiding the nano-mesh, the twisted cords that knitted into his skin, the way his body wasn’t quite shaped right anymore. 

Obi-Wan’s hand on his back was a shock, warm and gentle as fingers spread to frame the upload port. Anakin jumped then, silently cursing himself and the flashing warning about accelerated heart rhythm and breathing trying to make itself known, settled back with a nervous laugh. Obi-Wan was silent in a way that felt very pointed and wait, hand hovering close enough to feel it’s heat without actually touching, until Anakin waved at him to go ahead. 

He didn’t jumped away from the touch the second time. Worse, he relaxed under it, focused on the press of fingers against skin, on the heat, the feel of calluses dragging against him flesh. He soaked it in, eyes drifting shut. 

No one except the engineers touched him these days, and that was always quick and clinical, through layers of gloves and sometimes even involved machines and robotic arms rather than a human touch. 

It was there and went quickly, the connection slotted into place then pulled free once the information flowed into Anakin’s neural system, less than a minute of contact.

Anakin missed it when it was gone. 

He pulled his shirt back into place, very aware of how pathetic he was to take any comfort in Obi-Wan’s touch. A touch he’d once taken for granted, because his mentor had allowed him to be clingy and affectionate where no one else was permitted to be, and only been aware of when distance between them became the norm. 

“Let me know when the update is complete.” Obi-Wan said; the cockpit door whooshed back open. “Then we’ll discuss our plan of descent and infiltration.” 

“Sure, Master,” Anakin said absently, ‘Master’ rolling off his tongue with more familiarity than it should considering Obi-Wan was to be ‘Agent Kenobi’ to him and nothing more now. He was too busy rolling his shoulders and wondering at the echo of heat and pressure he still felt on his skin to notice the slip or Obi-Wan’s sharp look. Then, looking up in shock, repeated: ”Our descent?” 

“Yes. The new landing system is equipped to allow you to take a single ‘passenger’ along. As your handler it’s logical that I would go with you.” 

“No.”

“It wasn’t a question.” Obi-Wan said, dry and unmoved. “It’s an untested augment, you can’t go alone.” 

Anakin stared, horrified. “So you’ll go with me and then we both die if there’s a failure.” 

“Yes.” Obi-Wan reached for the blueprint holo with one hand and waved Anakin away with the other. “As if I’d let you jump out of a helicopter alone. Don’t be ridiculous Ana-  _ Skywalker _ .” 

He knew Obi-Wan’s ‘I’m done talking about this’ tone, he’d heard it almost as much as his ‘Somewhere between disappointed and amused’ tone growing up, and knew that anything else said would be pointless. He drew back, gnawing distractedly on his bottom lip, to shuffle back to his seat.

“Obi-Wan told you about the jump.” Ahsoka said, lips curling into a smirk. “Commander Yoda didn’t like the idea either.” 

Anakin shrugged helplessly and for a moment it was like Before, sharing a bemused look over some plan of Obi-Wan’s and wondering how exactly it was he was the one people assumed had it together and thought things through. Then Ahsoka was frowning and looking away, jaw tightening, and Anakin knew they were solidly back in the Now, where his friend, his trainee, his  _ Padawan _ , was as lost to him as his Mentor. 

Nothing more or less than he deserved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated the 'Master' thing, because it's hard to wrangle outside of canon, but decided to just keep rolling with it. I like Anakin calling Obi-Wan Master and the other things I tried (Sir, boss) just didn't have the same spine tingly good feel.


	3. WarGroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war against the First Empire has been lost. Obi-Wan expects to be killed on the spot. He is unprepared for the very berserker who defeated him to want to keep him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking Vikings, when I started this, but not really vikings? Some sort of dark magical host thing, with some made up tribal elements not meant to invoke or remind of anything except my own self indulgent thirst. 
> 
> Omegaverse, wargrooms, dub con mating/mating under duress. Anakin has big bloodthirsty berserker energy, and Obi-Wan is just trying to do the right thing. Obstinately a sequel trilogy meld but not in any important ways, really. 

“General Kenobi,” The man standing over him was tall and pale, dressed not in the fur, leather, and mail of the First Empire’s fighters but in well spun robes of inky black over pristine silver armor polished to an eye straining shine. His accent was crisp, the way he said Obi-Wan’s name sharp, and the look on his face dark with disdain. He reeked of politician or detached leadership, hands free of blood and the hem of his robes without any of the muck the battlefield had churned up. His hair, a vibrant red, looked freshly washed and groomed, held back by a leather cord without a strand out of place. 

Obi-Wan, stripped of his weapons and catalysts, drained of his magic, weighed down by chains, and forced to kneel in the sucking black mud, so saturated with blood that red pooled around his knees, no doubt looked a sight in comparison. His own robes, marking him as a Sage and thus something for the soldiers fighting with him to keep a wide berth of, were singed and tattered, the light brown darkened with filth and blood, among other fluids. His light leather armor sported tears and holes from blows both glancing and not, and his tunic underneath was stained red by his own blood. He might have been missing a tooth, or four, and at some point he’d had to sheer off his own braid to avoid a particularly crafty enemy who’d managed to get past his guard and under his hood to grab at his hair. 

He smiled anyway, pushed energy he didn’t feel into his words. “You’ve heard of me? I’m mortified that I can’t say the same, you’ll have to forgive me for not knowing your name.” 

“General Hux.” The man sneered, nose wrinkling and mouth puckering as he’d breathed in something unpleasant. Which, Obi-Wan was willing to concede, he may well have. Two weeks on the field, fighting a losing battle against a much larger force didn’t leave much time for sleeping and eating, let alone bathing. “You have been a thorn in the side of our glorious Empire for some time.” 

Obi-Wan blinked mildly. Had he? Wonderful. If this was to be where he died at least he could do so knowing he’d caused the First Empire some irritation. “You flatter me.”

The man scoffed. “I expected more of a fight from the Republic’s greatest general. You killed the Berserkers Maul and Savage, routed Ventress on the coast, and have made a habit of emptying cities just ahead of our forces,” 

Obi-Wan didn’t preen under the list of his accomplishments, partially because it wasn’t the Jedi way, partially because he’d done all of those things with no small amount of help from others, and partially because he was too tired to do anything but nod along and continue to smile. It was, he was willing to admit, quite the career. He had a few more acts under his belt, smaller skirmishes and things down in secret, but he doubted General Hux would find the recounting of such of interest. 

“Yet here you are, at my feet, as did every member of your  _ mystic order  _ who stood in our way.” Hux looked down his beaklike nose at Obi-Wan. “Did your handful of victories lead you to underestimate us, General, or is it merely that your best efforts broke upon the might of the First Empire.” 

It was most certainly not, in Obi-Wan’s opinion, that they had underestimated their opponents that had led to their eventual defeat. 

They had done all the research they could on the monolithic First Empire, sending spies out into the world, across mountains and oceans, to bring back whatever information they could. They’d gathered and set their oracles and visionaries to the tasks of peering into the future and the past to see what insight could be gained, and risking countless lives to get past patrols and barricades to speak to survivors and escapees of the Empire. They’d pooled all the resources available to their ever shrinking nations, allying with other Core territories to make one last stand and hopefully keep themselves from being swallowed whole like so many others had been. 

They had learned everything they could, and found that knowledge lacking where it mattered. Obi-Wan had been aware of the holes in the history of the First Empire, because it was as if the system crushing army had risen from absolutely nowhere at the edge of the known world and somehow spread across the ocean to the Republic proper and across the Naboo mountain range before being seen as a threat worthy of acknowledgement. It was impossible, spoke to bungled communications, willful blindness, and perhaps outright treason among those in power but in the end it hardly mattered because what was done was done. 

The greedy mass that was the First Empire had feasted and grown into a monster while no eyes were upon it, had slithered dark and oily to burrow deep in every facet of Republic life, and by the time the Republic had risen to fight back they were at a loss. Trade routes were blocked, factory production halted and taken over, mines, farms, and ports claimed, and countless major cities razed as the First Empire host marched onward.

They knew nothing of those in charge, nothing of their battle strategy, nothing of why they did what they did or where to expect them next. Those in their path fled deeper and deeper in the supposedly safety of Republic lands, and gave up more and more territory, more people and resources, as they went. No one who fled them knew much of worth and anyone captured during battle would sooner die than give anything away. 

More than once Obi-Wan had been called to an interrogation, ridden hard through the night, and still found himself greeted by the body of an Imperial soldier who had taken their own life. Obi-Wan didn’t know how the Empire managed to inspire such loyalty, how they turned their soldiers from individuals to members of a faceless hoard with one shared thought and goal, but they did the job efficiently and completely.

The thing that had broken the Republic ranks, in the end, was something they could not have foreseen. Berserkers, strong in the Void, had emerged from the body of the Imperial host on the morning of the twelfth day and all had been lost from that moment. A small contingent of black robed figures, brandishing blood steel and unholy magics, had swept across the field and wrought destruction like nothing Obi-Wan had ever seen before. If the First Empire was a hungry mass that consumed everything in it’s wake then these warriors were it’s gnashing maw, ripping and tearing and reducing all they saw to shreds. Obi-Wan and the other generals had tried to converge to make a counter attack but the battlefield was huge and they were spread thin, and exhausted, and not at all prepared for the brutality of the berserkers awaiting them.

Even Obi-Wan, with his experience with the monsters the First Empire could turn out, had been shocked by the sheer power and bloodthirst he’d felt radiating from the berserkers. 

They warped the world around them, unnatural points of Void and Madness that made the earth scream under their feet, the air twist and shimmer in heat waves around their body, and blotted out the very moon and sun with their dark rituals.

The other Sages and their units had fallen, some under the blood steel weapons, spirits stolen, and others torn apart as their own men turned on them in fits of madness or fear, and a few impaled on their holy blades. 

Obi-Wan had been prepared to follow the others into death, knowing that in doing so he would become one with the world and the light, but the Berserker who had come for him hadn’t seen fit to do so. They’d clashed, swords singing as they crossed, magic pushing against each other, splashing out of them to blacken and shatter the earth, and it had taken everything in Obi-Wan to keep up. The one he battled was no mere man, he’d known that the minute he’d laid eyes on the wraith like figure, all sweeping back robes, glove covered hands, and a face obscured not only by a hood but by a mask that covered from chin to just below red rimmed golden eyes. More than anyone else they were a disturbance in the flow of the world, a terrible gasping hold that sucked in all lifeforce around it, that made reality shriek in horror because of their existence. 

Madness poured out of them, a sticky maisiam that had crept into the mouths and noses of Obi-Wan’s unit, sent strong men who had been ready to walk into the land of the dead with him into vacant eyed puppets as their minds broke, and the berserker had seemed to do it incidentally, without thought, by proximity alone. It had lapped at Obi-Wan’s feet and he had felt the rage, the endless white hot anger that had hollowed out the warrior, trying to touch his own emotions, trying to feed off of him, or perhaps (and he shuddered at the thought) to feed into him. 

They had strength that no human should have, every swing of their red blade threatening to crush Obi-Wan, speed that was frankly unfair, and worst of all skill in spades. The monster had fought with grace and fluidity, pivoting and twisting, blocking, striking, parrying, in a rhythm that matched Obi-Wan’s near perfectly. Their magic, for all it burned and choked, had also caressed him, twined around his body as it’s master took his measure. 

It had been a closer fight than it should have been, considering the difference in power between them. The berserker should have ended him once his weapon had been knocked from heavy fingers gone numb after absorbing so many strikes.

Instead he’d been bound and turned over to another robed figure to deal with, with a few words in a language Obi-Wan didn’t know. He now knew the second berserker was a young female, brown skinned with piercing blue eyes, white markings tattooed onto her face, and blue and white hair that fell around her shoulders in thick twists adorned with beads of bone and what Obi-Wan suspected was kyber crystal. 

She’d smelled faintly of omega, beneath the blood and sweat and burnt ozone that lingered around her and the other berserker, but Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to make of that. He wasn’t one to say that omegas couldn’t fight and shouldn’t be permitted to be warriors, unlike many of those who considered themselves enlightened in the core colonies, but he’d seen her darting around the pitched battle, twin blades flashing and gleaming. It was hard to reconcile that level of wanton destruction with the idea of gentle, maternal omegas that he was so used to. 

She’d marched him through the still raging battle, through the tight back ranks of the Imperials, then stopped to talk to a warrior in battered blue and white armor who had been peering into a scrying bowl. The warrior had revealed themselves as a male, tan skinned and dark eyed, and spoken to the berserker in rapid fire Mando’a peppered through with the same language he’d heard before. He knew Mando’a decently but the speed and dialect, and way they twined it seamlessly with the other language made it near impossible to keep up. 

He thought he caught ‘Air Traveler’ and ‘mistake’ and ‘kits’ before the woman had started scowling and the man laughing warmly. Water had been passed to her, and carefully given to Obi-Wan as the worst of his wounds were scrubbed raw (he was not ashamed to say he’d screamed a bit) and wrapped, then they’d been up and on their way again. More painful marching as the world moved from blistering noon hours to dusk, during which he considered running then decided that between his depleted magic, the wounds already seeping blood through their wrappings, and his exhaustion he wouldn’t get far. Eventually they’d entered a large, well fortified camp, made up of no less than a hundred tents, hastily constructed pavilions, horse pens, and dozens of small fires burning in the gloom of the setting sun. 

He’d had only a few seconds to look around before ‘General Hux’ had come stomping out of one of the larger tents, taken one look at him and his bemused captor, and gone red with rage. He was absolutely incandescent in his outrage, swearing and shouting down at the girl about blasted Sith running off and doing as they pleased, not obeying kill orders, and on and on and on, while Obi-Wan bled out patiently at her side. She’d finally clicked her tongue, tossed her twists over her shoulder, and spat out a series of words in that harsh language of hers from which he could only pick out ‘Skyguy’ and ‘Sidious’ in basic before she’d turned on her heel and flounced off towards one of the pavilions. 

Which brought his back to the present, with the seething redhead. Obi-Wan offered a polite smile and shrug when he forced his drifting attention back to General Hux. He was fairly certain he was bleeding out and, sadly, that made it very hard to focus on what the man was saying to him. He said as much, as apologetic as he could manage, and added a not entirely sincere “I’m afraid your monologue about the strength of your empire and the follies of my people will be falling on deaf ears soon enough.”

From what sounded like far away Obi-Wan heard the sounds of horses and people shouting, cheering, and wondered if that meant the battle was truly over. Were those the sounds of the First Empire’s victory, and the Republic’s inevitable demise now that it’s united army had been pushed back, or perhaps completely destroyed.

Hux puffed up like a scandalized loth cat, poked a finger into his face, opened his mouth and...said nothing. His mouth worked, opened and closed, as his face went from flushed to bright red to a sickly purple. His eyes bulged, rolled; Obi-Wan was distantly concerned that he was witnessing some kind of attack but not so concerned as to move or do anything but watch. 

He really was quite tired. A rustle of fabric was the only warning he had before a wall of black fabric swept past him to stand next to the general. Another berserker- no, The berserker. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how he knew only by staring at their back and outstretched, glove clad hand, but he knew it. Maybe it was how the air shimmered and bent around them or the faint ‘something’ he could feel even in his injured and empty of power state. 

The berserker turned, looked down at Obi-wan, then dropped down into a crouch in front of him, head tilting to the side. With the hand not outstretched towards the sputtering general they pushed back their cowl and lowered their mask to uncover their face and neck. 

Obi-Wan sat up straighter, well aware that his face was giving away his shock, and not caring much. 

The berserker was beautiful and perhaps Obi-Wan should have been prepared for that, considering how the female berserker looked, but the image of Maul and Savage was forever burned into his mind. They had been tattooed from head to toe in the runes of the Sith, teeth filed and sharpened into points, and strange hornlike protrusions had erupted from their skin, the work of mutation or magic or body modification Obi-Wan had never bothered to be sure of. They had been as terrible to look at as they were to fight, and that was before Maul had come crawling out of undeath as a twisted, monstrous thing to try and seek revenge. 

But this one. This one was tall, with sunkissed golden skin and long tawny curls that stuck to his face with sweat. Their features were masculine but toed the edge into the feminine, full lipped but square jawed, high cheekbones and long lashes and, oh, his eyes. Gone was the sickly red and yellow from their fight, replaced with blue as deep and striking as the ocean itself. 

This close Obi-Wan could smell them, metal and death and burning, something arid and deep, and just a touch of sickly sweet. Omega. 

What, Obi-Wan thought blankly, the fuck? 

“Snips!” The berserker shouted, head turning to look to the side. The woman was back, a steaming bowl in hand, watching with a razor sharp smile on her pretty face. The rest of what the man had to say was in that grating, guttural language he seemed to favor, spit fast and oily. The woman shrugged, laughed, and held up the bowl in silent offering. The man sighed loudly, sounding so much like Qui-Gon had when Obi-Wan had been getting on his nerves that it gave him instant insight into their relationship. They were a teacher and his student. 

It was dizzying to think that these beasts of madness and shadow were taught, could have casual affection and frustration for each other, and didn’t just spring fully formed from an ancient Sith pit full of blood and ichor. 

Especially considering this one was still choking out the good general, now on his knees and leaking blood from his nose and ears. 

“That seems a bit excessive.” Obi-Wan said, because he couldn’t watch anyone suffer as General Hux was. 

Blue eyes, full of golden flecks and with red seeping in at the edges of his iris like blood absorbed into linen, flicked over to him. The berserker dropped his hand; General Hux collapsed onto the hard packed earth with a wet, rattling sound. 

“Come.” The man said, straightening up. He offered Obi-Wan a hand, the same hand he’d used to control his magic to nearly kill his own ally. 

Obi-Wan stared at it, wondering if there was a polite way to refuse when someone called his name. His head snapped around towards the sound, the churning in his stomach turning to a simmering knot of nausea and, loathe as he was to acknowledge it, fear. 

Towards the edge of the camp a procession made of warriors on horses, some on foot, were standing in a loose horseshoe figuration around a clump of what could only be prisoners. The prisoners were all Jedi, Sages and Knights alike, all looking worse for wear, bonds of shadow and metal tight around their necks and wrists. Obi-Wan knew them all by name, knew that the group of less than a dozen was a frightfully small percentage of the number that had walked onto the battlefield with him two weeks ago. 

Masters Windu, clutching the bandage wrapped stump that had once his left arm to his chest, and a hunched over Fisto stood at the head of the group. It was Windu who had called to him, expression tight and furious and, Obi-Wan knew from years in the man’s company, fear. Not for himself, Windu was beyond that as any proper Jedi should be, but for Obi-Wan, on his knees before the demons who had broken their army. 

Obi-Wan could read it perfectly in the lines around his eyes and felt it, cold and seeping like mud through his chest, himself. It ratcheted up when one of the Imperial warriors, in their filthy white and blue armor, lashed out with a gauntleted arm and struck Windu, snapping the man’s head back and nearly taking him from his feet. It was only years of carefully honed control over his emotions that kept Obi-Wan from shooting to his aching feet to throw his battered, weakening body at the warrior. 

“What are you going to do with them?” Obi-Wan asked, turning back to the berserker. Blue eyes regarded him, bright and curious and amused; all the emotion in the man was right there, laid bare for Obi-Wan to see and it shook him to his core. 

How could a creature like that be so open, so unguarded? 

“What would you like me to do with them?” He asked in flawless, accented common. 

Obi-Wan pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow, wincing slightly as it pulled at the cuts and nicks in his face. Was that a real question? Some sort of trick? A set up to deny him? It had to be and yet something in Obi-Wan said it wasn’t. 

“Let them go.” He said, because he might as well aim for the stars. 

The berserker smiled, toothy and warmer than the sun. “What will you give me?” 

Obi-Wan had not the faintest of ideas what he could offer to an First Empire berserker who had already personally defeated him and rounded up other members of his order, seen his men driven mad, crushed countless soldiers with a flick of his hand, and was looking at him with almost childish glee. But if he had it he would give it. 

“Anything.” 

A hand shot out and grasped the front of his robes, quicker than Obi-Wan’s tired man could follow, and dragged him forward into the berserker’s space, past a bubble of stinging, acid darkness. It hissed at Obi-Wan, snapped at him as a wild animal would, clawed directly at where he hurt most and filled his blood with molten heat. He gasped, vision darkening at the edges, and couldn’t make any effort to stop himself from collapsing against the berserker. A low growling hum in his ear, hot puff of air against his neck, and a hand wrapping around the back of his skull made the hair on his arms stand up and alarm bells go off in his head but he still wasn’t ready for what happened next.

He shouted, eyes flying wide, when sharp digging pain flooded his system. His name was screamed, by multiple voices, but Obi-Wan was beyond hearing or caring. It wasn’t just physical, though there was certainly that, but a tearing open of his spirit, a spilling of life force as well as blood, fire searing every nerve just as it burned part of his very being to ash. And then banked, curling back on itself, settling into the niche it had made to burrow deep, a seed planted in the wake of a purging wildfire. 

The berserker's teeth slipped out of his neck, released his mauled mating gland, and settled back on his heels. He licked his lips, stained with Obi-Wan’s blood, and blinked at him, lazy and content. Obi-Wan touched his neck, felt the pain when he brushed against ragged skin, brought them away slick with his blood, and thought nothing about it. 

His brain was decidedly, pointedly, blank. 

“Talk them to the edge of the battlefield and let them go with a few horses and water.” The berserker said, gesturing uncaringly towards the men holding the other Jedi.

“No!” Someone, Hux? Who Obi-Wan had forgotten about if he was being honest, croaked. “Absolutely not, Skywalker, you cannot just release these Jedi-”

“I can and I am.” The berserker stood, dragging Obi-Wan to his feet with him, and cast an impatient look at the redhead still on the ground, dirty and rumpled and smeared with his own blood. “Complain to the Emperor.”

“I will! Sidious will hear of this!” 

The berserker looked askance at Obi-Wan and rolled his eyes, entirely too companionable for the situation at hand. Then hand on his arm tugged him forward, away from the stewing General Hux and the other Jedi, already being enclosed by the armored ranks and pushed away, and towards the woman berserker. 

“Ahsoka.” The berserker said, inclining his hair towards his student. “Healer.” 

She nodded and, after handing over the bowl, turned to hurry somewhere. Obi-Wan tried to keep his heavy lids open to watch, or at least to keep from tripping over his own feet, but by the time they were ducking into one of the larger tents he was swaying on his feet, eyes all but shut. A hand on his chest pushed him back and down onto a soft surface. 

“Sleep.” He was told. Then, quiet and pleased. “My Alpha.”

Obi-Wan slept, hard and deep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this needs a follow up. Probably with some dub-con, power bottom Anakin smut.


End file.
